


Anything, But Chivalrous

by CelaenaSardothien118



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, Knights - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 02:08:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20940536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelaenaSardothien118/pseuds/CelaenaSardothien118
Summary: Doran Raindale is a Lord and talented jouster in the Emblence kingdom and hates the King, Theodore. When the King asks him to murder his son n cold blood just to remain on the throne, he has to make a decision: Be abandoned and thrown out or complete the kings dirty work. Meanwhile, the Kings daughter, Elizabeth, struggles with  being far apart from her brother and with disagreeing with her fathers course of action. The two worlds flip as a masked figure arrives in Emblence and defeats Doran in a joust and when the vicious Queen of Newyel take an interest in their kingdom.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [no one](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=no+one).

Doran 

Doran could see his opponents eyes narrow beneath the gleaming silver helmet the sat atop his golden, sandy hair. Unruly strands spilled like wine out the sides.  
The two men faced each other while upon their horses of choice- dorans black stallion vs white. Only the stripped wooden barrier stood between them.  
“Sir Philip Beauston, yes?” He spoke softly, not wanting to draw attention from the audience that waited patiently for the match to start. Drake dipped his head slightly and grinned.  
“Do you always wish to know your rivals designation before you rip them to pieces?” He mocked.  
Doran shook his head and looked at the sky. A Cloud was yet to be seen.  
“So you can see the future now, Sir?” He sniggered.  
“I wouldn’t get this cocky before the match will determine who lives and who dies.” Doran motioned to his servant, still keeping his gaze on Philip. The woman- dressed in rags- fetched his lance and timidly handed it to him. Doran ́s gloved fingers wrapped around the handle before he answered,  
“You shant fear it, for death is no more than the turning of us over from time to eternity.̈ Philip opened his mouth but their heart-to-heart was interrupted by the Kingś town-crier,  
“Ladies and lords, Dukes and Duchesses take your seats. The joust is about to commence.”  
Doran smiled.

. . .

Doran wiped the sweat from his forehead with a dark cloth. And breathed slowly, gaining a level head. He was resting on an elegantly carved wooden chair inside his tent near the arena. He fingered the long, curved lines that indented the wood in a distinct pattern.  
The lord still hadn’t removed his blood-stained armor since the match and he was starting to overheat. Doran stood and tentatively removed his steel breastplate, his cream colored mitts becoming stained with the dark, almost black liquid.  
That man, he talked big but never delivered. I’m disappointed. Dorian pouted as he reviewed the scene in his mind. He had struck luck the first round and let his checkered shield absorb the bulk of the blow, but met a similar fate of all of my other opponents. He paused, savoring the memory between his teeth. Death. He concluded.  
Doran finished swapping his dirty jousting costume for a fresh, lavender and forest green suit. He had just finished buttoning the front when the canvas make-shift door rustled and a tall figure dressed in red stepped through. Atop his head, dusted with brown frizz, a crown. King Theodore. He scoffed, but not aloud. He was flanked by three menacing royal guards that could be seen with him at all hours. When Doran bowed his head in an illusion of respect, the King chuckled.  
“Now, now, young Doran. No need for any of that foolishness, I came here to congratulate you on another victory!” He clapped Doran on the shoulder. He winced.  
“Thank you, your Majesty. And if I may, is the reason for you to grace me with your presence?” He hoped he didn’t seem hasty towards the King though he may have let a small tone release into the question. But the bulky man in front of him didn’t notice or was just very skilled at not letting it show on his expression. Probably that first one. Doran thought.  
“Yes, there is an important matter I’d like to discuss with you. Come with me.” The King started towards the grassy lawn outside the private tent. Doran grabbed his black cloak of the back of the chair and swung it over his shoulders. King Theodore glanced over his shoulder just as Doran strode up beside him. The two were close to the same height but King Theodore was more than double the Lord’s width.  
They walked the cobblestone trail that lined the outside courtyard, the guards trailing behind. The King still hadn’t said anything and Doran pondered why really wanted to go for a walk. Not a stroll. Stroll implied that both were enjoying each others company, when Doran loathed the king with every fiber of his being.  
After a long term of silence, the King spoke. His voice was quieter than before but more stern and serious, his face became stone.  
“I need a favor.” He kept his eyes focused on the green landscape. Doran had not expected this, he had only assumed that he would be invited to another meaningless celebration of the power they possessed- and never shared. He flicked a short auburn lock of hair away from his face, making sure it didn’t obscure his vision.  
“Whatever you say, my lord.” King Theodore slowed is feet and turned to look at him. He lowered his voice so it was scary audible to Doran.  
“I wish it didn’t have to come to this.” Doran’s brow furrowed in confusion.  
“Pardon?” He asked and the King's face softened and his raspy voice escaped.  
“I need you to kill my son.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'll see

**Chapter Two**

_ Elizabeth _

**Elizabeth’s eyes snapped open and her breathing became heavy. She lifted her back off the comforter on her bed and into a sitting position. Her head pounded and she whipped her head around her sleeping chambers. ** _ No one’s here. Calm down.  _ **She put a hand over her heart and felt the beat become slower. **

**Elizabeth pulled off the warm blankets, now damp with her sweat and made her way to the door that led out of her bedroom. She carefully turned the metal handle and pushed the over-sized, money boasting door open and glanced around the stone hallway lit dimly with small torches. The two guards posted at her door for the night, Nathaniel and Johnathan, were still well alert. They turned to her as she exited the private set of rooms and bowed. The two guards removed their helmets to speak. **

**“Princess, we thought you were still well asleep.” Jonathan rubbed his head, acknowledging her attire. Her face heated as she realized she was only in her nightgown. Suddenly self conscious she quickly replied,**

**“Another nightmare. I was just going down to the kitchens for a glass of water.” **

**“We can escort you if you’d-” She raised a hand and shook her head.**

**“I am perfectly capable of walking, it’s really not that far.” The men returned their sculpted steel helmets to the tops of their similar haircuts and stepped aside as she passed through them, only slightly brushing Nathaniel’s shoulder.**

**Halfway down the hall she stopped and picked a wooden stick, crackling with orange flames from beside a framed picture of her and her brother, Lawrence. Elizabeth stroked the golden frame and traced over the distinguished outlines of each figure. Prince Lawrence was her brother and heir to their fathers throne, she wasn’t jealous. No, really. She had never wanted to be a part of the royal family that ruled over Emblence. She wanted a peaceful life, away from her horrible father and an even more horrible and power greedy king. **

**Lawrence, however, was always kind to her, when she did see him, that is. He was always running around with royal duties, preparing to be the new king, and she only really saw him for their weekly dinner date. ** _ Most nights I dine alone.  _ **She thought and removed her hand from the oily canvas, turning back to the dark. She raised the torch in front of her and continued walking towards the kitchens. **

**. . .**

  
  


**Her slippers made no noise as she descended the stairs and crept into the royal kitchen. No one was inside. ** _ Of course they’re not, it’s the middle of the night. _ ** She chuckled into the silence and instead of heading to the water pump she took a right and a flight of stairs down to the wine cellar. She plucked a bottle of red from the first rack of the many in front of her and walked back up the wooden cellar stairs.**

**Elizabeth rummaged around in a drawer until her hand emerged with a corkscrew, probably the fanciest she’d ever laid eyes on. **

**“Not everything we own has to be embedded with diamonds.” she grumbled. And jammed it into the top of the bottled and twisted it violently. The stones cut into her hand and when she popped the cork out the mark was laced with blood. She cursed and grabbed a cloth that was left astray on one of the wooden counters. She wrapped her injured hand to stop the bleeding.** _ It’s not serious but it still stings.  _

**Elizabeth strode up to a glass case filed with wine glasses made by the most prestigious glass blowers all over the world. She took a discarded pin from her hair and inserted it into the silver lock that hung from the front like a necklace. It took a few tries but eventually she heard the snap of the pieces inside surrendering to her skill. She took the most expensive glass and poured it full of the beverage. **

**She took it by the base and leapt onto the counter, once sitting she guzzled a gulp. The bitter taste attacked her brain. Soon she was cackling horrendously and laying on her side, her rich blonde hair acting like a pillow.**


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, you'll see.

Nyssah

The metal cuffs cut deep into her wrists as she strained to be free. It’s no use. I need to wait until they let their guard down. Just wait. Two masked men dressed in black held the ends of the shackles and dragged her forward. She grimaced but made herself to druggingly walk behind them. Nyssah was being escorted to the main prison in Newyel, against her will, of course. Hence the chains. She thought.  
Night had begun her reign when they reached an iron gate that was so tall, it blended with the gray clouds that hovered menacingly above. The sky looked as though someone had mixed gray and black tempera and accidentally splattered it with silver. Instead of waiting for the gate to raise and let them through, sentry number one traveled to a side door with a splintered window. They knocked three times, pause, twice, pause, five times. Easy enough to remember. If need be. She kept her head trained on the ground, her dark, unwashed hair falling in her face, so they couldn't tell if she was paying attention.   
The door opened slowly and man dressed in a dark green tunic with white hair waved them inside. The room was almost like a passageway, thin and bare. They didn’t stop to converse, just yanked at her restraints and trudged past the heavily watched walls that encaged thousands of people. Inside the prisons was a drastic change in scenery, the ground went from grassy and fertile to baran and dry, and the sky was a seemed a darker shade of black.  
There were hundreds of small iron buildings that surrounded the trial house, servants to a master. Cell blocks. She wasn’t surprised. The Queen, Maven Camylle, showed no pity to outsiders or people who were not as fortunate in her own lands. No one dare speak so the entire area was solemn and drowned in silence except for the vicious figures posted around the perimeter who hissed amongst themselves.  
They led her to a cell block near the trial house. Then one of the sentries unlocked the main door and a musty odor escaped and engulfed her senses. She cringed in disgust but peered into the dank space. People were thrown together in cells with ten to each, and looked positively miserable. She saved herself the trouble and walked by herself to the closest cage. They unlocked it. She stepped in. They locked it once more.   
She sat down next to a boy, who looked only ten.   
“How long have you been here?” She spoke in Roan, a common tongue for peasants. The boy looked at her and choked out,  
“Since I was seven. I don’t know how many years its been, I apologize.” Nyssah stroked the boys face tenderly. Her heart ached at his words.  
“That's alright.” She checked to see if any sentries were near. There weren’t. She pulled him close and whispered covertly into his ear.  
“Look, I’m going to help you and everyone else escape.” The boy sat back and clanked his head against the metal bars that dug into their backs. Clearly relieved. He turned the corners of his mouth into a toothy grin. Nyssah gasped silently when she saw that many of his yellow teeth were missing.  
“Heinwrei quoe.” Thank you. She rubbed his soiled black hair. And rearranged her shackles so she could lay down on the dirt floor. She was scrunched between prisoners who she doubted had touched a toe to bath water in weeks, but she felt safe, surprising. Her eyes fluttered closed and she slept, grateful to have stopped running. Stopped hiding and stopped worrying. Until she broke out, that is. 

. . .

Nyssah awoke to intense shouting. She jerked her head up and scrambled to her knees. Turning her head she saw the prisoners around her moving to the open door of the cell. She mimicked their movements and watched as cloaked men ushered them outside. Rain poured down and instantly soaked through her black trousers and blouse. The people around her groaned in disgust at the unfortunate weather.   
Other blocks just like the one she had exited were migrating to an unknown source. Moths to a flame.   
“Forgive me but,” She asked a detainee next to her. “Where are we headed?” The woman looked at her and shook her head in amusement. “Do you not know?” Her voice was thick with an Inkish accent.   
“The trial house. We await the conviction of new arrivals, once a week.” Nyssah felt a pang of worry in her stomach. Me. She means me. She couldn’t help but wonder what happens to the people who were wrongfully accused.   
“How does the hearing work?” She already dreaded the answer.  
“You either get released, unlikely. Kept here, likely. Or killed.” She didn’t say anything after that, or for the rest of the short walk.   
As the mob of prisoners arrived, three men grabbed her forearms and twisted them behind her back so she couldn’t resist. Nyssah kicked and trashed enough that everyone looked in her direction, curious. Overpowering her efforts to aggravate them, the sentrys practically threw her into the whitewash space beside the courtroom.   
“You are to remain here, until the trial begins.” The man's voice was harsh and cunning. Nyssah glared back with the fire of a thousand suns and in return was left to dwell alone in the silence. Under lock and key.   
Could I really be sentenced to death? Is it possible that I have underestimated the Queen’s intentions?   
After she stopped hearing the sound of people filing into the courthouse, the sentry reappeared. He loomed over her frail figure, slumped, head buried in her knees.  
“It’s time.” She looked up.


End file.
